


When The Clocks Stop

by yodelsquad



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:38:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3950926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodelsquad/pseuds/yodelsquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: Based off of the movie Age of Adaline. It's basically an AU of it. <br/>A plane crashes into the English Channel on April 20th, 1945. From it's remains rises a war hero who will no longer age. He will spend years running from the threat of suspicion and begins to believe that perhaps his chances of living a normal life is no longer obtainable. However, after the clock strikes midnight on New Year's day, he finds himself earning the attention of a certain millionaire who is nothing but determined to know more about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                It was cold on April 20th, 1945. The Second World War was coming to an end and a certain Steve Rogers noticed something peculiar while flying what would be his last flight over the English Channel. Whether snow seemed thick due to the speed of the aircraft or Peggy’s voice seemed to become a dull slur of incoherent words – he couldn’t put his finger on.

                He would never be able to connect what could have possibly been surreal in the situation during that war, but Steve was able to conclude something fairly quickly: the plane would crash into the Arctic water.

                His last breath would be approximately two minutes after the crash.

                His heart would stop beating four minutes after the crash.

                Steve Rogers would be dead five minutes after the crash.

                And as his body clung to the seat of the air craft, the travelling thunderstorm would roll further eastward. At approximately 1800 that day, a strike of lightning powered at an average 10 billion watts would strike the aircraft thus causing Steve’s heart to beat once, twice, three times.

                Steve Rogers would be alive ten minutes after the crash.

                He doesn’t remember much. He remembers struggling to swim out of the fallen aircraft and to the surface. Steve also remembers being pulled from the water -- by whom was no current concern to him. Steve’s main concern was how could he have possibly lived, unaware of the consequences that was brought on by the miraculous revival.

                The war hero would no longer age from that day on.

               

* * *

 

 

                Present day Brooklyn had taken in a new breath of life. The cob web buildings were left to decompose as the new elite generation masked former history. Steve had lived in five different cities throughout the world after the realization that escape was his only solution. He lived in San Diego, Seattle, Washington D.C., Chicago, and Cincinnati. A new city, a new alias, and very brief relationships that settled into the same conclusion: Steve would have to leave again. He learned that he could not become attached for the sake of his mental health and the emotional strain for the opposing individual.

                Steve knocked on the door of a quaint apartment in Midwood, feeling strangely calm for feeding into a dangerous and very illegal job. He smiled politely at the slouching boy who answered the door. He smiled in return, clearly at unease as his fingers fiddled at the front of his glasses. “Come on in. My dad won’t be home until two,” he mumbled, shrinking away from the doorway and back into his room. Steve shut and locked the door behind him, trailing after the sound of lazy footsteps. From the teen’s hands, Steve received a new ID. “Matthew Simons, age 29, current resident of New York. Congratulations,” he offered, scanning Steve from behind his glasses. “Why do you need this anyway?”

                Extracting his wallet from his coat pocket, Steve counted out three hundred dollars and handed it off. “I don’t think you’re in any position to ask me what I’m doing when you’re the one producing these— “ Steve paused and put away his wallet. “Do yourself a favor and get a good education. Kids like you don’t belong behind bars and the police are cracking down as of recent. I’d hate to see a great mind rot away for easy money,” and he was considered a hypocrite for lecturing the boy after purchasing the product. He smiled a considerate smile, nonetheless, and put the ID into his wallet. “Thank you.”

                The teen seemed baffled, almost offended by the words, but shrugged his shoulders and counted off the bills in his hands to verify the transaction. “We’ve all got to make a living. College is expensive.”

                “Fair enough. You have a good day.”

                Steve would return to his own lonely apartment that evening and set every add-in lock on his door. A visitor would speculate that the uncanny amount of locks installed is a sign of paranoia. Steve called it precaution. He never had visitors when he could go out with the few acquaintances he had. They would be content with small talk over coffee or a party that he would slip out of early. Everyone was satisfied with the usual mantra of their lives and Steve was set in the same schedule. He would wake up the next morning, go on a run, get home to make a cup of coffee and toast before work, get ready for work, go to work, return home from work, and call Peggy before bed.

                Now that it was mentioned –

                “Pegs,” Steve smiled fondly as he pressed his cellphone to his ear, eyeing the countless lights from his apartment’s window. He had a late dinner, a tuna sandwich, and nearly slipped past the slot of time he had to call her. She was at a ripe 96 years old now. She had seen her glory days and Steve knew that her time was slowly winding down. He could see it in her eyes every time he visited. It was routine to skip his Friday lunch at work to come see her. And while she had aged significantly since Steve moved from city to city, he still made time to sneak away to see her.  

                Peggy had aged so beautifully, so perfectly. It started with laugh lines and then a set of gray hairs coming from the beginning of her hairline near her temples. Her curves lost their maintained shape, but she never truly grew plump with a ceased metabolism. She stopped wearing her red lip stick in her middle thirties, but began to adorn herself with it again in her late fifties. Peggy always said that red was the most powerful color of them all and just because she was getting old, didn’t mean she would allow it to make her powerless.

                And while she was frail and her memory had been chewed up by Alzheimer’s, she always recognized Steve’s voice on the phone line. How could someone forget a man who never aged? Peggy -- with what little memory remained – seemed to remember almost everything about Steve. “Steve,” Peggy breathed. He could hear her smile.

                “How’s my favorite girl? Are they still feeding you the junk you don’t like?” Steve chuckled, backing away from the window to sink into his couch. He grabbed his sketch book from the coffee table and filed through the box of dull, unsharpened sketching pencils until he found one with a reasonable amount of lead exposed.

                “The doctors have been talking about transferring me back to Washington D.C., Steve. S.H.I.E.L.D insists that I go into their care with what time I have left so that they can have a proper ceremony for me. They have an entire medical staff hired and even a small house that I can live in until…”

                “Don’t say it.”

                “I know.”

                A beat of silence rang between them.

                “I don’t want you to leave, Peggy. It’s been too long that we’ve been apart. You’re all I’ve got around here. This all seems like a ploy to get me back down there. You know they kept insisting that they could reverse the effect. If they could only run a “few” more tests, keep me a “little” longer. We know how well this all turned out when I played the lab rat the first time. More lives were lost for the sake of some dumb health-case like me.”

                “Don’t you call yourself that,” Peggy warned with a tremor in her voice. She coughed and the bed beneath her creaked with the shift of weight.

                Steve’s sketching ceased, “…Didn’t mean to upset you. All I’m saying is that I feel selfish.”

                And Peggy laughed a soft, sick laugh, her smile aching in the dim light of her lamp. She shook her mane of white hair and rested back into the pillow on her hospital bed. “Everyone in the world is selfish, Steve. It makes us all human. You should get to bed. You’re…. overthinking again.”

                “Okay, you win. I love you, Pegs.”

                 “And I, you.”

 

* * *

 

                “Are you going to the New Year’s Eve party tonight, Matt?” Sam asked, pressing his phone between his shoulder and ear as he scrubbed at a stubborn stain on one of his plates. “If you don’t go, I have no reason to. I need my wingman. You bring them in by the dozen with your all-American look. How the hell you do that, I don’t know, but it works so I need you there.”

                Steve had been chewing lightly on the back of his pencil, eyeing the clock from his spot at his kitchen table. The pencil dropped back into his two-finger pinch when he opened his mouth and let out a sigh. “See, I could, but I’m no fun at big parties. They’re so impersonal and those poor girls throw themselves on any guy within a ten feet radius once the clock strikes midnight—“ Steve cringed at the sudden controversial outburst of Sam. He had forgotten almost entirely that it didn’t take a dinner and a couple nights out dancing to finally get a kiss from a little lady.

                Peggy hadn’t dared to kiss him when he was found alive after the crash. She wanted to, yes, but the entire situation made her want to drift away from him. The feelings she felt towards a man she knew only professionally scared her. They had formed so strongly in such a short span of time.

                But they had shared their first kiss a week before the Christmas of ’46. As tradition, it was under a mistletoe and her nose had been so wonderfully cold when it pressed into his cheek. Her lips had been warm and hesitant, but Steve was smitten.

                “Listen. I will literally come find you and drag you to this thing. “No fun”, oh shut up. Everyone loves you.”

                Steve fell back into reality and began to tap his pencil against his notepad.“Fine,” he groaned, running a large palm over his face. “Fine, I’ll go, but for three hours at most. I’m leaving whether you drive me back or not,” cabs had always been a God send.

                “Deal,” Sam smiled, shifting the cellphone from one ear to another. He wiped his hands on the front of his jeans and nudged his way into his bedroom to pick out his suit for the night. “Oh and did you hear who was hosting the party this year?”

                Climbing from his seated spot, Steve went to grab a bottle of water from his fridge. He twisted the bottle around in his grip and claimed a spot on the couch. “No, I didn’t. I thought it just would’ve been some political big-shot. They normally hold these parties to broaden affiliations. So, humor me.”

               “Nah, not this time. I heard it was Tony Stark.”


	2. Chapter 2

                The party was certainly the biggest one around. Steve could hear the bursts of shouting and the live band blaring from the windows of the venue. He exchanged a worried look towards Sam who simply adjusted his tie and nodded his head toward the entrance. With great reluctance, Steve trailed after Sam, keeping his head low.

                There had been a panic welling up within him that perhaps S.H.I.E.L.D agents would be located around the premises. The last thing he needed was to be identified as the show girl name he had been dubbed in the 40’s – Captain America. They could even go the extra mile and call upon him as Steve.

                Quickly, Steve ran a pair of moist hands over the front of his jacket and stole a glance around them as they entered the tower. This had been the tower that was in TIME magazine, had grabbed every broadcasting station’s attention while in construction, and had still been making the tabloids. Steve could hear the distinct shouts of paparazzi trying to get past the front gate without being thrown back out.

                “You’re acting like you’ve never seen the Stark tower before.”

                “Seen it, yes. Been in it? Never. How did you manage to get us into this party anyway? This is a black tie event and everything. I’ve already passed at least a dozen people who use twenty dollar bills as toilet paper.”

                Sam stopped short, feeling the thud of Steve ramming into his shoulder. He turned and smirked toward Steve. “When you know as many people as I do in the military, you learn that they can scratch your back if you scratch theirs. I was helping a veteran that suffered PTSD – you know, the same old same old – and he mentioned that he used to actually work under Stark as one of his top engineers. So, after our last meeting, he came by and asked if I’d be interested. He would be there too and could get us in. A month later and here we are. You can thank me later.”

                Steve had been remotely impressed by this. He opened his mouth to reply, but immediately snapped his jaw shut and offered his companion a shrug. “Fair enough,” he finally uttered out, entering the elevator.

                The party buzzed on a multitude of floors and on the way up, Steve met a good twenty people who had either bumped into him or were too drunk to even form a coherent sentence – most of them were girls. Now that he thought about it, a majority of the party had been women. These women ranged from the ages of their early 20s to late 30s and they were beautiful. They had to be models. Sam had mumbled something about models when the doors opened for the first time to allow two or three people in. Now Steve was beginning to believe him.

                More importantly, Steve was still regarded as a stranger to everyone that came and went. Knowing the skill of some of the agents, however, Steve was positive of another thing: if they had seen him, they wouldn’t have just blatantly tried to confront him. Steve had fallen in love with the woman behind S.H.I.E.L.D, after all. These people would be nothing short of their rightful reputation.

                Sam left the elevator on what had to be about the 70th floor. Steve stole a glance at the number as he left and soon set his attention to the large tables arranged. There were cups of wine and bottles of beer being handed out and a sweeter, less pop-esque music. This was more of his speed. This floor also seemed to have a number of much older guests. Was this a mistake? Sam wouldn’t have willingly picked a floor like this for the two of them to spend their time unless… Unless -- Steve felt a hand pat him flat on the back and seized to find the source of the hand.

                “Sam!” Steve snapped, watching the elevator close before he could slip into it too.

                Steve was left with the Golden Girls. This had to have been some sick joke.

                He would spend the next two hours in the company of war veterans and nurses.

                When it was time to find Sam in a poor attempt to go home, Steve bid everyone a farewell and scrubbed the pink lipstick off his cheek. Someone had gotten a bit too much wine in their system and it wasn’t him. He admired the effort to pursue, however.

                Slipping back into the elevator, Steve picked the 70th floor. It seemed like a fair start. He could travel down from there. Steve licked his lips and parted from the elevator, finding himself in a room of people who seemed to be listening to someone on a microphone. The floor vibrated from the music playing and at one point, Steve even heard something crash. He cringed for them.

                “I want to thank the bartender, first and foremost. You’ve made this night great for all of us. You deserve a drink. Get yourself a drink. What do you guys think?”

                Steve stopped short at the archway that lead to another half of the room. A stage was built against the curved glass wall, and the state of New York was alive with lights behind the man speaking into the microphone. He extended his arms out as the spotlight hit him and he smiled brightly at the dimly lit room. The buzz of cheering quieted down and Steve noticed the bartender extend a laugh before serving another round of drinks to the men sitting at the bar.

                “You guys are great, really. I could talk to you for hours, but frankly I’ve got to deliver this same exact speech to the 60-something floors below us before midnight,” the raven pulled at the cuff of his jacket to check his watch and snorted. “Mmm… maybe not. How about I just call it quits after 67?”

                Another round of applause and laughter.

                The black haired host angled his head under the spot light, allowing his features to be more distinct. From that moment, the host would be known as Tony Stark. Steve froze in his spot. He looked very different in person compared to the photoshoots and TV interviews. Did he seem shorter? Whatever it was, Steve also noticed that the man of the evening was staring in his general direction. Pursing his lips, Steve glanced around him to see if someone had done something to receive his attention. Seemed like everyone was looking around to investigate. With nothing truly unfolding itself, Steve exchanged a look back towards the stage.                   

                Tony smiled crookedly against the microphone and waved his hand at everyone. “Everyone should have a good rest of their evening. Find someone to take home, or at least someone to kiss at midnight. And when someone asks you what you were doing on New Year’s Eve, what will you say?” he turned the microphone on the audience.

As if rehearsed – which it probably was at the beginning of his “speech” – everyone exclaimed, “Tony Stark’s greatest New Year’s party of the decade!”

                “Well that was a mouthful, but good job. You tried,” Tony clicked off the microphone and tossed it back to the stage manager. He dropped off the front of the stage and immediately disappeared into the crowd.

                And Steve stood there with a wild look of confusion. His jaw fell open to ask the person standing beside him what exactly just happened, but assumed that this was a normal thing. Tony Stark was a narcissist and everyone loved it. They loved him. He loved himself.

                He continued to look for Sam for another half an hour, but his looking ceased when a distant shout made the announcement of midnight in ten minutes. Steve had been there for three, almost four hours.  There was no way he’d be able to find one man in a group of thousands. Steve would rather go home than have to suffer another hour of the nonsense that was apparently “Tony Stark’s greatest New Year’s party of the decade”. Within the next three hours, the crowds would probably condense and the most intoxicated would be escorted home. A good few would already be passed out on table tops and finely placed sofas. Steve didn’t make an effort to watch that happen. He would watch the fireworks go up from one of the best views in Manhattan and then get home within the next hour.

                Steve grabbed a glass of brandy and pressed his lips lightly to it as he walked over to the large wall of glass. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and lowered his glass. “Peggy?” the blond answered, pressing the phone to his ear.

                “Happy New Years, Steve.”

                A smile etched its way on to his lips. He took a larger swig of brandy and tilted his head. “You should be in bed. It’s late. Party too hard?”

                “Oh yes, my nurse spent the entire day with me. We celebrated an hour early so that I could sleep, but I didn’t want to miss the ball drop and the fireworks. I couldn’t imagine sleeping through that, no matter how early I may pretend it’s the New Year. How is your party?” Peggy inquired softly, watching the world from her window across the room. The nurse had left behind a small plate of fruit and sparkling cider as well as a hat that Peggy wore for only a short time frame. New Year’s had always been one of the fondest times of her life. This included Steve.

                Checking for the time, Steve noticed a large monitor appear in every room. New York City’s ball drop was now being broadcasted for all of the guests and the excitement in the room heightened. He was eager to steal a few more minutes of conversation with Peggy, but felt that hearing her would become more difficult. “The party is like every party I’ve been to, just twelve times larger. Still, I’m not feeling too great about it. I hope the nurse wasn’t your early New Year’s kiss. I’ll have to give them a good talking to,” he laughed, his heart swelling at the burst of laughter coming from the other end of the line.

                Peggy brushed the back of her hand over her cheek and shook her head slowly. “I’m too old for silly things like that, my love. Don’t be foolish,” she said as her chuckles calmed. A hotness coated her cheek then and she placed trembling fingers over it. Her cheek went damp with a few tears that escaped. Peggy cleared her throat and quickly wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her night gown. “I wish you were here.”

                Still smiling, Steve raised his glass toward the window in a toast. “Don’t you worry, Pegs. I’ll be coming by on Friday. Let’s go on a walk, okay? I’ll bribe them if I’ve got to. I want to take you out. I can’t have my favorite girl withering away in a room.”

                Nodding, Peggy pressed her lips into a tight line. “Yes, yes. I would love that. 1200 sharp. I expect to see you here.”

                “Roger that.”

                “…And I love you.”

                “I love you too.”

                The phone went silent. No background noise of obnoxious party guests. Silence. Peggy listened to the silence of their conversation for a moment before turning off her hand-held and setting it on the bed beside her. She clasped her hands together slowly and stared out the window as the first firework went off.

                Steve returned to his glass of brandy as the mantra of counting down from ten surrounded him. Noise. It was loud with life and the lights in the building were so bright. In a room full of people, Steve couldn’t help but want to be anywhere else but here. He gave his emptied glass to an attendant and clapped his hands as the ball finally descended and the New Year came. He watched a few couples – maybe just strangers -- exchanged a variety of kisses from sweet pecks to needy drunken open-mouthed kisses. He swallowed dryly and backed on to the heel of his shoe. When he turned his shoulder caught on to another’s. “My fault,” he sputtered.

                “At least you didn’t spill anything on me,” Tony shrugged, running his hand over the front of his jacket. “You know, I heard that kissing a stranger on New Year’s is good luck. Ever think of trying?” the corner of his lips quirked up as he slipped off his pair of sunglasses.

                Taken back by the change of subject, Steve looked over Tony’s face. Tony Stark. This was Tony Stark. Steve imagined the bluntness to be a façade he put up for the media, but it was no façade. Tony had no walls to break down. He kept up his reputation with a smile and one could simply feel the confidence ooze off of him. “Are you suggesting…?”

                “Unless you aren’t into that sort of thing. Most aren’t, but I thought I’d try.”

                He was quick.

                Steve found himself opening his mouth to reply one too many times that night and every time, he couldn’t seem to formulate a proper response in time. “I’m not—“ It was the 21st century and Steve still couldn’t come into terms with his sexuality. For someone who didn’t age, he had trouble with the mere concept of liberation. The 60’s, 70’s, and 80’s did nothing for him. “Don’t you think you could buy me a drink first?” he finally asked. It was no invitation.

                The raven rose his hand to stop the next attendant who carried a variety of glasses of alcohol, “You’re making this too easy.”

                “I was joking. I need to get home. Lovely party and I thank you for having me,” Steve replied, turning to find the elevator. He caught the elevator just in time and pressed the button for the first floor.

                A hand came between the doors just before they closed and the host slipped in. “I wasn’t done. Didn’t your mom teach you manners? You can’t just leave in the middle of a conversation. What’s your name?”

                “Matthew.”

                “Matthew? I took you for a Sam.”

                Steve felt a bitterness stir inside of him at the name. If he had never left his side, none of this would’ve happened.

                “I’m not saying that a number of people would kill to be stuck in an elevator with me, but people would kill to be stuck in an elevator with me, Matty. Can I call you Matty?”

                “No.”

                “Hear me out, Matty. I saw you on the floor as I was delivering my very well constructed speech. You could at least tell me you enjoyed that. That’s beside the point. Point is, I saw you and I found you again within the same hour and I think that’s talent or fate. You’re one of the best looking guests I’ve seen all night. You should be honored that I nearly broke my hand in the elevator door just to get your name.”

                Was this guy serious? Steve coughed and forced a laugh. The elevator stopped on the 46th floor and Tony smashed his finger on button to close the doors before someone else could enter. “This elevator is occupied.”

                “You’re insane,” Steve snapped, almost squinting at the grinning nuisance. “I’m sure you’ve trapped plenty of people in the elevator to patronize them. I’m not interested, Mr. Stark.”

                Unfazed by this retort, Tony continued, “What I want to know, what I truly want to know, is why you came here alone. A guy like you could pass a glance at a girl and they’d throw their panties at you. That’s a compliment, mind you.”

                The elevator reached the lobby of the tower and Steve spared a look at the genius. “I’m not looking for anything, I suppose,” and he headed out of the elevator. He reached the street and immediately halted a cab. “Could you just drop me off at Central Park? Thanks,” Steve requested as he climbed in and grabbed the door; a hand came to grab the side of the open window before the door closed. Tony tapped the car, sparing no mind to the paparazzi behind him.

                “When can I see you again?”

                “Excuse me?”

                “You’re dense, not deaf, Matthew. Answer the question.”

                “Never, if I can help it,” Steve smiled, cocking his head to the side. “I’m sure you could go get the number of the next sharply dressed male at your party if you’ve got the taste for it.”

                Tony nodded, knowing that he could. He felt the cab jerk a bit and he leaned over to stare at the driver. “Hold on for one more second and I’ll pay twice his fare,” he offered, returning to the man in the back seat of the cab. “Let’s go out to lunch. I’ll get my people to contact your people. It will be fun. You can’t just leave and expect me not to follow.”

                Steve ran his hand lightly over his mouth and groaned. “It’s late, Mr. Stark. You should go to sleep. A man like you must have far too busy of a life to even think about getting lunch with a complete stranger. Good night,” he nodded toward the cab driver and the car jerked to life.

                Left behind and a little frustrated, Tony rubbed the back of his neck. He looked around, rose a peace sign towards a few of the cameras and slipped his sunglasses back on. Tony pulled out his phone on his way back inside and pressed it to his ear after making a few taps on the screen. “Pepper, I need you to look someone up for me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {Blood/miscarriage trigger warning}

    Steve retracted from the bookshelf he was currently stationed at, a pile of books now piled up in his arms. He ran his thumb over the caked dust on a few covers and tossed them on to the cart behind him. The pay wasn’t extraordinary at the library, but it got him by. He was happy to have a livable wage and the fact that he lived like a ghost under the radar was the most beneficial of all. He steered the cart into the back room and put the books aside for repairs. Some books still sat stored in corners and shelves with falling apart spines, missing pages, water damage, and any kind of weathering that made it beyond repair.

    He stacked the books up on to another desk when one of his supervisors peeked her head in. “Hey Matt, mind taking a look at these new documentaries we got in? I wanted to make sure that they were appropriate to let the schools borrow,” Alice grinned, shouldering her way past the doorway and into the backroom. She set a box of old tapes and brushed her hands off on to her overalls. “How was New Years? Meet anyone?” she inquired, tucking her hands between her overalls and shirt.

    His lips twitched, fading the smile on his face when she initially walked in. He scratched at his jaw and immediately thought of the awkward encounter between him and Tony Stark. Alice would have laughed in disbelief if he mentioned a lick of it, so he shrugged. “I went out to watch the ball drop and then went home. Parties aren’t my thing,” Steve explained, going over to the box to pick up one of the documentaries. He eyed the sharpied-in title: WWII 1945.

    Alice patted Steve on the shoulder before pinching it and winking at him. “Yeah, well, I’m sure any gal would’ve been more than happy to have been your first kiss of the year. Take your time on the tapes, okay?” she dipped out of the room.

    Twisting the tape around in his hands, he went over to the VCR. At least the footage had been updated to something relatively modern. He doubted that the documentary would reach a DVD version, but DVD and VHS players resided in most schools.

    A fuzzy narrator voice buzzed through the small set of speakers residing next to the screen and Steve suddenly felt as though he were melting into his past. A number of shots projected across the screen. Soldiers running up a hill while narrowly bypassing gunfire, cars buzzing through poverty streets, kids gathering scrap metal and rejoicing over chocolate bars, and then a few soldiers being able to get home to their loved ones.

 

* * *

    Peggy hesitated when she saw Steve wake from his spot on the hospital bed. She hurriedly wiped under her tired eyes and rolled her lips into a tight line. “Thought I lost you,” she finally uttered out, grabbing his hand. “I thought I had really lost you, Steve,” her composure was quickly falling apart before him, but she tried her best to stay strong. Peggy examined their hands placed into each other and then captured his blue gaze. “I suppose you’ll be wanting another rain check for our dance? The nurse said you won’t be getting out of bed for a while, much less hitting the battlefield again during this war.”

    “There are people dy-”

   “Don’t worry, we’re making arrangements to send some of the boys home,” she reassured him quietly. “We’ve practically won the war, Steve.”

   On August 15, 1945, Japan officially surrendered, ending World War II.

   On November 20, 1945, Steve would propose to Peggy Carter.

 

* * *

    Steve and Peggy moved into a quiet home in Washington, D.C. Most of Peggy’s time was dedicated to S.H.I.E.L.D, having been recruited by Howard Stark shortly after the war had ended. Steve joined as well, training agents with strategies that he conjured during his time in the war. Outside of that, he had followed behind Colonel Phillips, Peggy, and Howard like a lap dog. Whatever they needed, Steve would get it for them.

    They were a very professional couple in the eyes of their peers. They addressed each other with purpose and Peggy still ushered Steve away from any errors he made while they worked. Occasionally, they slipped up. During Peggy’s late nights in the office, Steve would come by with dinner and a flower. He would kiss her goodnight and insist that she’d call before she made her way home so that Steve could wait for her arrival.

    As for a honeymoon -- there wasn’t much of one. If one considered a day away from work as a honeymoon, then that would be the extent of it. They went on a long walk in the capital and caught a movie that evening. That would be more than enough.

   They would be comfortably married for two years before trying for a child. Peggy and Steve had established careers and a roof over their heads. Steve mentioned that a baby on the way would make their home life a little more like the ‘American Dream’ despite their more-than-reality life. Many didn’t notice it, but Steve noticed Peggy’s lingering gaze on young mothers and how she ran the tips of her fingers against the lace that adorned crib bedding whenever they were shopping.

    “What would we name it?” Peggy asked one night, relaxing in her spot beside Steve. She closed her eyes when Steve kissed her bare shoulder and pushed a few strands of hair from her sweat-clad forehead. He would wrap his arms securely around her waist, placing a full kiss on her plump lips.

    “I feel like we should name him or her whenever you’ve given birth. That way, we can look at our baby and decide on the first name that comes to mind.”

     Peggy seemed to warm up at the idea. She ran her hand soothingly against his forearm and kissed his lips a few more times. “Okay,” she murmured against his lips, “you’re just full of good ideas, aren’t you?”

     Steve nosed her cheek and chuckled. “Yeah, but half of them aren’t quite good when you’re around to knock some sense into them.”

 

* * *

    On April 3, 1948, Peggy would not show up to work.

    Steve hurried home after hearing from Howard that Peggy didn’t so much as call to explain why she hadn’t shown. He burst through the door, tossing his briefcase at the entrance. “Peggy? Peggy, are you home?” Steve called out, sticking his head into every room he passed until he reached their bedroom. He froze in the doorway when he heard the shuffling of steps in the bathroom and running water. A pang in his heart made him want to turn around, to look away and go back to work. The shift in the air made him want to pretend that this occurrence was entirely nonexistent. Whatever this surreal feeling was.

    When he reached the bathroom, the first thing that caught his eye was the color red.

    Red dressed the tiled floors of their bathroom, multiple towels, and especially Peggy’s being. He watched a stream of discolored red falling away into the sink from Peggy’s pale fingers. Part of him didn’t dare to look at her face. “Hey,” he whispered, eyeing her suddenly stiff shoulders. Peggy scrubbed slowly at her hands. A bar of soap dropped from between her palms and the suds that coated her skin carried a pink hue. The sound of running water filled the room and Peggy knew that she had failed.

    It seemed that Peggy had tried to conceal the fact that the blood trailed dry down her calves and moistened the seat of her skirt. She pursed her lips, the way she always did when she didn’t dare to touch the subject. She never had the opportunity to dispose of the evidence and play the game the way it was supposed to. Peggy was supposed to stay pregnant.

    And that never made sense to her. She and Steve had still been young, they lived healthy lives, and the stress had been minimal -- if not necessary.

    Aiding her side, Steve placed his hand lightly on her waist. He grabbed the hand towel on the end of the sink, the one towel in sight still clean, and dried her hands and arms. “We need to get you some help, okay? It’s going to be okay, Peggy. I promise,” his lips disappeared into her freshly curled locks to kiss her head. Lavender awakened his senses from her shampoo as he whispered, “I promise.”

    Steve would learn to hate the scent of Lavender.

     When they returned home that night, Peggy would retire to their bedroom early. Steve heard the door click shut and sank further into the couch. He pushed his work papers into a folder and grabbed his sketchbook. It would be close to midnight when he would try to join Peggy in the room. He got up from the couch and wobbled on tired legs that carried him to their bedroom. Steve sat his hand down on the door knob and hovered his ear over the wood of the door. A muffled sob echoed out on the other side of the door. The sound of restless rustling would follow the sob and then a broken cry of pain would slice the air. Peggy was nothing but a poor mother who wanted the simple pleasure of the joy of life. God reaped her of her baby and for that -- her heart was shattered. No word could describe the feeling of Steve’s heart gripping on to the sound of Peggy’s wailing.

     Steve slept on the couch that evening and Peggy would be up as bright and early as she always did. He would wake to freshly brewed coffee. Peggy stood in the kitchen with her hand clasped tight on to her white mug, already stained with red from her favorite lipstick. She looked tired, but well kept. Steve was frightened by this facade Peggy held. She seemed to have made a full recovery from the day before and part of her must have been glad to have not mentioned a baby to her friends. As far as anyone was concerned, a baby was never supposed to be part of the equation.

     Peggy would not mention trying for a baby again.

    She found the pain of having lost a child was too great to try once more. The only thing she wanted was to go through her first trimester with no issue than have another child ripped from her. For the first time in her life, Peggy had felt like she had no control over herself. She felt as though she had failed as a mother, a wife, and more importantly -- a woman. Peggy had felt powerless.

 

* * *

 

 

    Steve stirred from his spot when he heard a knock on the door. He noticed the film had come to an end and the only thing that filled the room was the blue light reflecting off the wall and silence. He touched his hands, almost cleaning them free of the past. “Yes?” he called out, getting up from his seat.

    “We’ve got one of our biggest supporters coming in tomorrow, Matt,” Alice exclaimed, clapping her hands. “He’s coming in to drop off this huge check for new books and the Newspaper will come by for pictures of him. He’s given us a grant of ten thousand dollars. Isn’t that crazy?” she grinned, gesturing for him to follow her out. “I need you to be there, of course, so could you come in an hour or two early to help us clean up? I want everything to look as good as it can for the pictures,” she turned and pressed her hands to his chest. “And--” Alice looked thoughtful in her actions, “dress nice. I know we’ve got casual Friday and dress nice six days of the week, but I mean really nice. No tux -- just… Christmas Sunday best, you know? Am I making sense here?”

    Steve nodded mildly and took a slow step back. He liked Alice, but she was a very touchy person. She was very comfortable in every environment and he imagined a woman like her to be the last one to want to run a library. However, Alice had a PhD in History and spent most of her life collecting some of the oldest books around the world. She was in the process of writing her second history textbook -- this one being on the history of the Medieval World. Needless to say, Alice was a very busy woman.

    “Which supporter is it again?” Steve asked. He trailed after Alice when she began to wander and collected a few stray books on desks as he did so.

    Alice glanced back at him and opened her mouth to reply. The chime of the phone echoed out instead of her voice and she jumped toward it. “Sorry, uh-- Hello?” Alice answered the phone. Her expression faded from her usual positive glow and she mouthed that she would have to take it and would see Steve tomorrow.

    Steve hesitated in his spot and then turned to drop the misplaced books on to the travel cart. He would arrange them in the morning if Alice failed to do so. She usually did. She hated organizing the books. He waved and grabbed his coat from the rack behind the check-out desk. “I’ll see you bright and early.”

    “You too, Matthew! Ah-- oh, yeah! I’m still here. So you’re saying--”

    His nightly routine continued as usual, but the morning would bring forth an odd turn of surprise for him.

    To start it off, Steve had stirred from his slumber an hour past the time his alarm normally went off. He nearly tore apart his apartment to shower and find something quick and formal to wear. He would be breaking through the door of the library a little less than an hour since the sponsor’s were expected to show. “Alice--” Steve called out, his jaw falling slack when he noticed the press and the supporter. “Oh no,” he muttered.

     “Matty, isn’t this a surprise? Is this where you spend your free time?” Tony smiled, waving off the camera man. He passed off the check to Alice and approached. His hands tucked themselves into his pockets and he cocked his head to the side. “I’d consider you fashionably late and she tried to prolong the picture in hopes that you’d make it,” Tony gestured toward the owner and Steve’s jaw tightened.

    Tony smiled, bemused by Steve’s reaction. He opened his mouth and gestured for Steve to come closer. Behind him, he lifted a small stack of books. “Spent all night trying to be clever about this. I brought you flowers,” he explained, nearly pushing the pile against Steve’s chest.

    How the hell did Tony know he’d be here? The books were no coincidence.

    Steve glanced over the spines of the books, raising his brows in surprise at the names of authors that shared the name of flowers. “I don’t--”

    “They’re dusty and old, I thought you’d be overjoyed.”

    “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t take these.”

    “It’s either you take those or you go out to dinner with me.”

    Steve felt his face heat up in embarrassment. Was this guy seriously trying to make a scene in front of the newspaper and his supervisor? He took the books and mentioned briefly that there were books to be stacked. Tony only clasped his hands together and offered his services. Though Steve decline, Tony followed. “You can’t say you aren’t at least a little flattered.”

    “Flattered? By the fact that you found my workplace and tried to play it off as a “supporter” ordeal? I’m a lot of things, but flattered isn’t one of them right now.”

    “Actually, I’ve always been a supporter of this place, thanks,” Tony rolled his eyes and rested his shoulder against a bookshelf. “I want you to consider dinner with me. I’m not nearly as creepy as you’re imagining. What do you say? We can do fondue.”

    Steve’s throat closed in at the meal of choice. He shoved a book back into it’s spot and shook his head. “I hate fondue,” he said..

    The raven gave no sign of giving up. “Then no fondue. How about I take you somewhere great? Somewhere you’ve never seen.”

   And Steve laughed at that. “I doubt it,” he said, “I’ve been nearly everywhere here.”

    “I doubt that.”

    “Try me.”

    Tony seized his chance, “Great, I will, tomorrow after your shift ends. I’ll pick you up.”

    The hand pushing in another book froze. His knuckle twitched against the book and Steve sighed out. “You’ve got to be joking. You didn’t just--” maybe seeing Tony Stark be proven wrong would be worthwhile. “--Fine. You win. I’ll be here.”

    Retracting from the bookshelf he rested on, Tony made his way past Steve and back to where Alice was located. “Don’t worry, I won’t forget about you.”

    “I’m sure.”

    “Tomorrow!”

“...Tomorrow.”


End file.
